Do Not Go Gentle
by whydowefall
Summary: Harry Potter’s capture ends the war, but it doesn’t end the battle; Muggle-borns are rounded up and used as slaves for the ruling Death Eater party, while the rest of the Wizarding World is left in shambles. Hermione Granger turns to some old enemies.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Do Not Go Gentle

**Rating:** M

**Fandom:** Harry Potter

**Summary:** Harry Potter's capture ends the war, but it doesn't end the battle; Muggle-borns are rounded up and used as slaves for the ruling Death Eater party, while the rest of the Wizarding World is left in shambles. Hermione Granger turns to some old enemies in order to cope.

**Time Line: AU.** The following story discounts all aspects of _Deathly Hollows_, because it's fun that way.

**Pairing:** Hermione Granger/Severus Snape

**Warnings:** Language, sexual situations, rape, character death, drug use, general unpleasantness.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:** This story is a joint project between the amazingly talented Opal Lynn and myself; for as long as I can remember she has been a prolific writer, a skilled artist, and a best friend. She came up with the backbone of the plot, and I'm doing my best to flesh it out; if I fail, you can always look at the pretty pictures!

A lifetime of thanks go out to my beta, SlytherinPsyche, for all of her amazing work in whipping this story into something I can actually be proud of.

If you read, please be courteous and leave a constructive review telling me what you liked and what could be improved upon. Thank you for reading.

* * *

**Do Not Go Gentle **

**Prologue**

"_War is simply a reversal of civilized life." George Orwell_

_**1997**_

It ended with a flash of light.

There was not a sound. A storm had been building for days; the night air, heavy with precipitation, filled their lungs and choked out their breath. All eyes were trained on the empty air at the edge of the tower. No one dared to inch forward and peer over the edge.

Another moment of silence passed, and they knew. The game had changed. It was a strange feeling.

Fenrir Greyback's blood-smeared grin faded a fraction as the impact of what had just taken place hit him. Draco Malfoy's face was sallow, hands clenched in quivering fists at his sides, and he jumped when Severus Snape whispered, "Out of here, quickly." Snape made a grab for Draco's robe collar to pull at the boy rooted to the ground, but a new voice made him jerk back as if burned.

"You went through with it then? Dumbledore's dead?" Bellatrix Lestrange was illuminated sharply by the green haze of the Dark Mark hanging in the sky, wand at her side and a grin spread across her face that was unmistakably filled with pleasure. "Not that I doubted you for a minute, darling Draco."

"Of course, Bellatrix," Snape said, the distaste in his voice undisguised."This is just a pleasant late night stroll on the Hogwarts towers, I take it?" No one dared laugh. "I killed him, and we're running out of ti-"

"Fine, fine." She pushed past Amycus Carrow and his sister Alecto to walk up to the tower's edge and look down through the darkness;nothing could hide her happiness at what she saw far below. "Look at him down there, limp and lifeless like a rag doll! Oh, the Dark Lord would love to see this!"

"He'd love nothing more than to see Dumbledore on the out, I'm sure." Snape said.

Fenrir threw his head back and laughed, the high tones sounding more like a howl than anything else; Draco edged away from the werewolf carefully. "Let's go now."

"This is no proper celebration, Severus! For the Dark Lord!"

She raised her wand to the sky and shot a stream of emerald green light in the direction of the shadowy Forbidden Forest to the east; it took a life of its own as it spewed from the wand, turning into a shimmery snake similar to the Dark Mark already hanging in the air. It slithered in a lazy fashion, and curled up on itself, flickering verdant sparks.

"For the greatest wizard of our time!"

The jet emitted now from the wand's tip was a deep, bloody red. It hurtled down towards Dumbledore's body in slashing motions, then swooped back up through the night sky only to plummet once more, slicing viciously at the air. "Old man got what he deserved, anyway." Bellatrix spat over the edge. The spells both suddenly shifted from their decorative dances to a frantic buzzing in the sky, vibrating violently.

The Death Eaters looked on as the beams shot from their locations towards each other, entwined where they met, then hurtled back towards the top of the tower; no one made a move except for Alecto, who ducked as the light exploded over the door to the tower, illuminating the entrance of another guest.

Harry Potter stood with his wand outstretched and fury burning in his eyes.

A startled cry escaped Amycus's mouth, and a flurry of motion erupted as the Death Eaters moved to pull out their wands. Harry was poised to strike and unflinching, never looking away from Snape. His knuckles were white as bone clasped around his wand.

"Heartless bastard, he trusted you! He trusted you and you-"

"You foolish, foolish boy." Snape met Harry's eyes but almost immediately looked away.

Harry never got the chance to curse Snape as Bellatrix shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" All breath left Harry's lungs as his body went rigid. He fell backwards to the floor, eyes frozen open in shock and wand still clutched tightly in his fist. Bellatrix clapped her hands together in amusement at the sight of him.

"Little Harry Potter has come to join us," Fenrir snarled, licking his lips. "How delicious!"

Bellatrix shot him an impatient look from across the room, though her eyes glowed with devilish delight.

"He just stood there! Little twit didn't do a damn thing to stop us," Amycus said with a wheezy laugh. His sister barked in laughter as well, but the rest of the group was silent, watching Harry's unmoving body warily, expecting a twitch of life that never came. "So much for their great hero, eh?"

"How'd he get up here so fast?" Fenrir asked. "There's no way he could have known to look for us here unless he'd been told about our little … party beforehand." He looked straight at Draco, who made a small noise in shock as he tried to back into the shadows and out of sight. "Who'd you tell, Malfoy?"

Snape shook his head and interjected, "He was probably with Dumbledore up here, hiding like a coward; I'm sure we'll find an invisibility cloak around here somewhere."

Fenrir scoffed, but stopped watching Draco's nervous twitching.

A smile blossomed on Bellatrix's face, eyes turning back to Harry's stony form. "Boy, what were you trying to accomplish here? Did you want to try to bring him back?" She stepped slowly towards Harry. "Aren't you tired of everyone around you dying? Do you remember Sirius dying? How about that Diggory boy? And your parents! And now…" She giggled, sending a shiver down the Death Eaters' spines, and then she was standing over Harry, looking like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. "Dumbledore. Dead. D - E - A - D."

Bellatrix stooped and pulled Harry's wand from his grip, twirling it between her fingers as she put a foot on his ribcage. "Too bad he's not more … lively. Let us bring him around, shall we? Bring him around and let him celebrate a new era in the wizarding world." With a snap, Harry's body went limp again; every Death Eater's wand was trained on him. He weakly lifted his head to look up at Bellatrix, who said, "Welcome back, Harry Potter."

Bellatrix laughed, and it ended with a flash of light.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_The Minister of Magic_

There were forty-seven rooms in Malfoy Manor, not including any of the dungeon compartments or the servants' quarters. On some afternoons the whole of the fourth floor would shift unexpectedly to reveal another series of powder rooms and guest bedrooms, bringing the total closer to sixty.

Under normal circumstances, you could find, at any given moment, four house-elves scouring the rooms in secrecy. However, these were not normal circumstances.

Each of the many rooms were still polished and cleaned with the utmost care every day; however, it was not elfish hands that worked meticulously for hours on end, but instead the hands of one human girl.

Hermione Granger walked the halls slowly, limping slightly; the heavy pails of ash she carried knocked into her knees with every few steps. Already covered in a layer of grime and dust, she did not notice the trails of soot spreading over her legs and coating the hem of her robes.

The word 'robes' was a misnomer, for all she was wearing was an oversize pillowcase tied crudely around the waist with rope. Once, the pillowcase had been white, though now it was a dingy brown with dark blotches staining the front. Fastened with magic to the neckline was a bright button reading 'S.P.E.W.', which Draco Malfoy had affixed magically with a malicious grin. He seemed to find great humor in protesting for elfish welfare when Hermione was nothing but a slave.

Already awake for hours, she hardly noticed the appearance of the thin, hazy patches of sun on the library floor, signifying it was nearing seven in the morning.

From the fireplace she raked out the ashes and scooped them into the buckets she held, thankful that this was the last bit of ash in the house for her to collect. Now all she had left was to bring it down to the kitchens and dispose of it, after which she had a day of cleaning ahead of her, like every day for the past two-and-a-half years.

No one else in the Manor was awake yet; Narcissa Malfoy would be the first to rise. Narcissa was nothing if not methodical, keeping to exactly the same schedule every day of every week. She was not cruel to Hermione, like her husband and son, and occasionally Narcissa even greeted her with a nod if they passed in the halls. Hermione treasured those tiny moments as if praised on high.

The kitchen was cold and empty, but soon the only remaining house-elf in the Manor would wake and begin her work on elaborate breakfasts for the Malfoys. Bunker was a friendly elf who loved the Malfoy family and was very happy that she had not been traded away like all of the other elves when Hermione had arrived. Lucius had been all but ecstatic to give his elves to his closest friends who were not 'privileged enough to own a Mudblood servant of their own'. Bunker, however, had remained; she had been the family cook for decades, and Hermione was as handy in the kitchen as she had been on the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione dumped the ashes into the bin in the far corner and dropped the buckets into a heap by the door, happy to have the worst task of the day complete. She hoped to have the dusting done by noon, and all the floors polished by four o'clock.

She did not notice the soot rubbed deep into her palms or the pale blue bruises beginning to blossom across her knees, as she was far more occupied with slumping down into a chair, eyes closed behind heavy lids. More and more she found herself lying awake long into the night, reciting textbooks in her head to try to mask the pain searing though her body, but the mornings came quickly and were viewed through bleary eyes.

"You is finished hauling the soot?"

Hermione's head snapped up at the sound of Bunker's tiny voice. The house-elf appeared smaller than most, hunched over from years of hard service and old age, and her eyes held a depth of wisdom that most house-elves would never reach. She smiled at Hermione as she clambered onto her tall stool at the counter.

Hermione let herself watch as Bunker floated the teakettle to the sink to fill with water, pushing down most of her envy at the elf's magic. Another snap and the water was heated to boiling and poured into the teapot. "Missus Malfoy will be wanting tea soon," Bunker said, as if this was a new occasion, and not one that had happened every day for years. As it was a Wednesday, and Narcissa liked routine, the teapot was white china with pink flowers, and the tea was to be served with a muffin instead of biscuits.

The clock over the door chimed eight. A soft ringing issued from the series of bells along the wall, coming from the bell labeled 'Second South Study'. Narcissa was awake.

Bunker made a tiny noise and pulled a blueberry muffin from a tin, setting it gently on its plate. The tray was silver and large, covered with an assortment of additives for the tea; a vase with a single rose had been placed lovingly in the corner. The house-elf picked up the edges and gestured it at Hermione as she gabbled, "You take it now!"

With a sigh, Hermione rose from her chair.

As she walked from the kitchen to the second storey, the paintings lining the wall hissed, "Mudblood scum!" and, "Dirty little wandless slave!" at her with sneers and laughs. She told them off once when she first arrived and thought that her pride mattered. Now, however, she kept her eyes on her feet and tried to ignore their whispers by focusing on the feeling of the tea tray in her hands.

On the last few steps of her walk to the library, she wondered what kind of mood would possess Narcissa on this day. When in a good mood she would be smiling over some photo album, or reading one of the many books from her expansive collection; in a bad mood, it would the newspaper. These days Hermione longed for the good moods, as it sometimes meant a kind word.

_The Daily Prophet _obscured Narcissa's face, but she took to folding it delicately as Hermione bowed her head and walked to the table in front of fireplace.

"Good morning, Madam."

Hermione set the tray gently in front of Narcissa, who was looking at the front page of the paper now lying in her lap. When Narcissa noticed that Hermione was straining to see a shifting picture, she folded the paper over again to hide it before placing it by her side. Not once in her time at the Manor had she seen a headline from any of the newspapers, and she longed for word from the outside.

Narcissa took a half a cup of tea and two scoops of sugar. She reached out, took the cup from Hermione, and murmured, "The series of guestrooms on the third floor, are they clean?"

"No, Madam."

"The Minister of Magic will be arriving by Floo quite shortly, and the rooms need to be spotless." Hermione straightened with a start. "Run along, girl."

Hermione tore off, leaving Narcissa to sip her tea quietly, pulling the paper out without a noise.

The third floor consisted of a block of storage closets and four guestrooms near the master library overlooking the back garden. Hermione had not yet gotten around to any of the cleaning that morning; the soot from the fireplaces was still smeared on the mantelpieces in all of the rooms, and nothing had been dusted, and the beds needed to have their linens changed, and -

Hermione skidded to a halt as she came to the door of the first guestroom. A cloaked figure stood with its back to her, muttering softly. It had been years since she had heard that deep, throaty voice, but she would never be able to forget it. With years of suppressed rage she ran at him, shouting, "Professor Snape!"

Without turning around, he whispered, "_Protego_." A translucent bubble flickered into the air around Snape, cutting Hermione short by three or four feet. The bubble was hot to the touch when Hermione pounded her fist against it, frantic tears streaming down her face.

"Look at me!" He did not turn, wand still visible at his side. "I'm here because you're a coward, because Harry was caught and you were there, because of what your kind thinks of me now." Only then did he spin on his heels, black eyes dark and unforgiving, but she did not falter. "Where have you been? Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Why would I tell you anything after you attacked me from behind like the coward you accuse me of being?" Snape spoke slowly, as if calculating what he was saying to her. She kicked again at the bubble protecting him and he sneered at her. "Your friends … you actually assumed that they're alive?" Snape paid no attention to the moan that escaped Hermione's throat as she took a step away from the magical wall. "Your friend Ron has been dead for years now. He made acquaintances with some very ... impatient people."

Hermione could not put the words together in her head yet; none of it made sense. Ron couldn't be dead, because he had to help Harry come and rescue her. "And - and Harry … is he - "

"Alive, yes, if you can call it that. The Dark Lord leads the bumbling fool around on a leash, like a dog." A dead weight settled in the pit of her stomach. "Miss Granger, if I lower this shield, will you -"

She never heard his words, stunned at the formal way that he had addressed her; she had not heard her name in years. Here at the Manor she was only ever called 'girl', and the sudden use of her surname stunned her and sent a wave of nostalgia and regret through her. The sheen of the bubble disappeared and in a heartbeat Snape had crossed the space between them and grabbed her chin, pulling her to face him squarely. "I am not a coward; I was doing exactly what I was told. If everyone else had done as _they_ were told, there would be far fewer dead people." He looked deep into her eyes. "Your welfare here is of little concern to me. Do not blame me for all your problems, Granger." His grip tightened, and she spat in his face.

"We all trusted you!"

Snape wiped the spittle from his cheek. He pulled back the hood obscuring his face; where he had once looked aged and serious, his face now was criss-crossed with worry lines and dark circles ringed his eyes. For the first time, Hermione bothered to look at the robes he wore, her eyes falling on the shiny badge on his chest. He saw her looking and he quirked one eyebrow. "You are about to realize what a poor decision it was to attack the Minister of Magic."

It was like a jolt of electricity; Hermione felt the spell hit her body before she heard the shout of, "_Crucio!_" from behind her.

She screamed.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Purchases_

Every muscle in Hermione's body involuntarily shuddered as the Cruciatus Curse pulsed through her. She sank to her knees with her eyes squeezed shut, screaming long after her throat burned and her voice turned hoarse.

Hermione cried from the pain. She cried with humiliation, with frustration, and because her friends were not coming for her after all.

She was torn apart by the fact that Ron was dead, and the news that Harry was being forced to be nothing more than Voldemort's pet made her stomach heave, but nothing made her scream like the knowledge that they were not going to save her.

After what seems like hours on the floor of the guestroom, the sensation of electric barbs under her skin vanished and Hermione collapsed. Tears streamed down her face as she lay on the carpet, not having the strength to move. Her breaths were ragged and uneven, heart pounding wildly. When the spell ripped through her again the sting was as sharp as the first time, perhaps more so, and the shout pulled from her lips echoed throughout the room.

"Stop, Lucius." Snape's voice was even and without emotion. A few seconds after he spoke, Hermione's assailant lowered his wand.

"I do apologize, Severus, for what my little bitch has done." Lucius Malfoy did not sound pleased. "She will be adequately punished later."

Years ago, Hermione might have found the amusing concept that Cruciatus Curse was not a sufficient punishment, but not now. Not after all that she had seen.

"It's of no consequence. The girl and I were merely talking." Hermione swallowed her pride and chanced a glance up at Snape.

Lucius scoffed. "You know that her type isn't worth talking to, and if this room is to be any indication," he landed a kick to her ribs, "they're not worth keeping to clean, either." He laughed, then, but he was the only one.

Hermione moaned in pain, feeling fire in her lungs as she tried to breathe. Snape crossed his arms over his chest; not once had he looked down at the girl, his former student, at his feet.

"I had hoped that everything would be ready for your arrival," Lucius went on, favoring her with one more blow from his boot. "It's a pity that good service is so hard to find these days."

"Indeed." Snape's voice indicated annoyance, sounding so similar to the voice used to terrorize his students for years, but this time Hermione did not think it was directed at her over the state of the room. He pulled a small roll of parchment from his pocket and unfurled it, took a quick glance down a list, and queried, "Speaking of good service, Lucius, I fail to find record that this girl is registered to you. The Committee keeps track, you realize, and -"

"She was a gift from our master to Draco, and I feel no need to discuss this further right now."

The energy of the room sparked with tension as the two men stared at each other, and it was Lucius who broke the silence first, sneering as he spoke. "I must say, though, that it is a great honor to finally have a competent Minister of Magic visit my household."

Snape was unfazed by Lucius' demeanor. "You know just as well as I that this is not a social call, Lucius, though I would be happy to come another time for a tête-à-tête. I trust that the others will be arriving shortly?"

As if on cue, the familiar 'pop' of someone Apparating came to her left.

Lucius asked, voice raised, "Are you really that boorish as to just Apparate into my house? Find some manners and come through the front door."

Hermione rolled over with some difficulty to look at the new occupants of the room. A very nervous Peter Pettigrew stood hunched next to Fenrir Greyback. As she looked at Pettigrew, Peter's eyes met her own, and he very quickly looked away; Fenrir, however, smiled wolfishly and winked at her. If her pain had not been as severe, she would have tried to slink away from the werewolf.

"Grayback, don't lower yourself to making advances at my servant," Lucius spat. "Even your kind is above a Mudblood."

"All I ask is for a nibble or two, Malfoy, and that's not asking a lot." Fenrir's voice was coarse like dirt, and his eyes were violating as they bore into her.

There was a thoughtful pause on Lucius' end before he sighed. "On the other hand, maybe you could have a little bit of fun before the meeting; half of us aren't even here yet. My disobedient wretch won't dare to think that she can talk to the Minister of Magic again, after you get to know one another."

Hermione, horrorstruck, could do nothing as Fenrir loped up to her and pulled her up sharply by the neck of her robes. Her body protested, pain pounding through her, but she could form no words and was reduced to low whine of remonstration. Her legs were barely strong enough to support her weight as she was forced to stand.

Without a breath of notice, he pushed her to the closest wall of the room, pressing against her with his whole body. He was larger than he looked, and all of his weight bore down on her. One of his hands went to the hem of her robes, fingers inching up her thigh. "Now let's get a good look at my new prize."

As his hand brushed the thin fabric of her knickers, it was Snape who spoke. "Fenrir, let the girl get back to the kitchens." When the fingers did not stop, he cleared his throat. Louder, then, with frustration in his voice, he said, "None of us wish to see anything of that sort here, so let her go!"

Fenrir made a small sound of disapproval with his tongue, obviously not happy with Snape's words. He gripped a handful of her hair in his fist, yanking her even closer to him, and lowered his head close to her neck as he whispered, "Later, pet." He pushed against her one final time before he sauntered away, back to where he had stood before, much to Peter's unease.

Hermione realized with a blush that all eyes were on her; she staggered forward towards the men and bowed low before Lucius Malfoy.

"I'm sorry, sir, for the trouble I have caused. I'll clean the other rooms while you and your guests discuss your matters." Hermione did not dare look into Lucius's eyes as she straightened; the man would be finding her later tonight to tell her exactly what he thought of the day's events, and there was no need to provoke him now. Then, very slowly, she turned to Snape and made the same subservient motion. "And I am sorry to you, Minister, for overstepping my boundaries and requesting your attention." There was nothing to be said to the other two men.

Her face was red with lies, anger, and tears as she left the room; no one spoke until she had the door closed tightly behind her.

* * *

Hermione scrubbed the remaining guest rooms for hours, thinking of the day's news, and of things she had long since tried to forget.

Severus Snape, murderer, traitor, and known Death Eater, had been elected Minister of Magic in the past few years. He now had the entire wizarding government at his control, and he was the man responsible for all of the laws on the books, including the bigoted decree that put her in the Malfoy Manor, wandless and powerless. Hermione's insides twisted in disgust at the thought of him sitting in the Minister's office.

He had, however, told her what she wanted to know about her friends, as bad as the news was, and that was something for which Hermione had to thank him.

A day had not gone by that she had not thought of her two best friends. All she had known when she had been taken into custody for questioning by the so-called 'Muggle-born Protection Committee' was that Harry Potter had been captured by Death Eaters at Hogwarts; no one would tell her anything else.

They snapped her wand, locked her in a holding cell in Azkaban, and told her to wait. A month of waiting later, she was forced to watch her parents die. A month of waiting after that, she was given to the Malfoy family.

Ron was dead. Harry was more of a prisoner than she. Moreover, Snape was Minister of Magic.

Hermione the slave buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

* * *

The soft chime of the service bell that evening had startled Hermione, who had been slumped sideways in a chair with an icepack on her rib. She had looked over to the row of bells to see that it was the one labeled 'Second South Library (East Wing)', and known that it would be Lucius, looking to finish her punishment.

However, when Hermione had arrived at the library, she had found not Lucius, but Snape, shadowed and sitting in front of the fire, two cups of tea (procured from somewhere unknown to her) before him.

"Sit."

She took the chair across from him, gingerly picking up the saucer he had placed on the table. She looked questioningly at him, and he nodded, indication that the tea was indeed meant for her.

After one swallow of tea, she felt warmed instantly, the pain in her side sliding away, and she gaped at him.

"Don't make such a surprised face, it's not a sedative. I am quite confident that you will not try to come at me again; what you taste is only Murtlap Essence to help heal any external damage from early today. I can give you a Strengthening Solution and some bruise-healing paste as well, if you find the need."

"Why do you care how I feel?" She kept her eyes lowered to her tea as she spoke, but in the silence that followed, she glanced up at him; he still hadn't turned from the fireplace, and it was now that she noticed that he was toying with his wand in his lap. He did not trust her after all. "I'm just a Mudblood slave."

"Miss Granger, I know you're too much of a Gryffindor to be resigned to that already." When the last drop of tea was gone from her cup, Hermione set it on the table again. He finally faced her, asking, "Care for more?"

"No, thank you," she said, throwing in at the last minute, "Minister." Snape chuckled low under his breath and she could not recall another time she had ever heard him laugh. The sudden intimacy of this moment made her cheeks flush. "I really do appreciate the tea, sir, and the potion for my ribs, but Mister Malfoy will -"

"Lucius Malfoy will not bother you again tonight, Miss Granger. I have purchased your company for the night from him."

Her eyes bugged and she choked, not sure if she had heard him correctly. _Purchased my company? _"Do you mean -"

"Of course not, you foolish girl. We have much to talk about, and I didn't want him getting suspicious of my actions while in his house, so I told him simply that the earlier confrontation between us was a sexual one in nature, and he was all too quick to offer you."

Hermione supposed she was to take comfort in this fact, but her stomach was doing somersaults. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound from the fire. Snape was looking at her expectantly, and she squirmed in her seat.

"So, um, what do we have to talk about?"

"I would like to tell you about what happened two years ago at the top of a Hogwarts tower."


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: **This chapter took forever because real life is terrible and Severus Snape is stubborn. I'm so sorry for the wait.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_A Discussion_

"- and Voldemort can't just take over the Ministry directly, so he appointed you."

Hermione sat back in her chair, mind spinning, ignoring the agitated look on Snape's face at her interjection; the better part of three hours had seen him pacing in front of the fire and talking, interrupted occasionally by an outburst from Hermione.

Snape had spent most of their conversation explaining the night that Dumbledore had been killed and Harry had been captured, and Hermione believed that he was completely telling the truth when he said that he was deeply sorry for what had transpired. From his accounts, Dumbledore had given instructions for Snape to kill him in such a situation, Harry was not supposed to be taken prisoner, and Voldemort was not supposed to win the war that was never really begun.

Everything had turned out wrong.

"I don't understand, though, why did you say yes? Power?"

Snape laughed a cruel laugh. "Use your brain, Miss Granger. I accepted because there is no saying 'no' to Lord Voldemort." When she tilted her head at him, he strode over to her chair and reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out an aged copy of _The Daily Prophet_. She took it tentatively. The headline on the front read _'Minister of Magic, or Misuse of Authority?' _"I'm not exactly a popular Minister, what with all the abductions and deaths, and I knew from the start that I never would be. I'm nothing more than a face for the population to hate while Voldemort pulls all the strings. No intelligent person would want my power right now. "

"Why hasn't the Ministry squashed these stories? You would think-"

"Why even bother? It's well known that if you have something in the paper accusatory enough for the Ministry to care about that you'll turn up dead by morning. We let them have their objective journalism, because it's all the same now anyway."

Hermione ran her finger along the page as she read, cringing inwardly as she came across the quote _'__Tyrannical authority will attempt to crush dissent in the usual time-honored fashion: by brutality, intimidation and fear'_. She recognized it as a line from David Cromwell.

A column along the edge of the paper gave a list of people recently deceased; she only vaguely recognized a few names from the listing, thankfully, and no one she knew that well. The date on the paper told her that this was from over a year ago. "Who else has died?"

"Hundreds. Anyone who doesn't support the Ministry is killed, in front of family and coworkers, and I can do nothing about it." Her hands shook as she remembered his words earlier. _Your friend Ron has been dead for years now. _"And all of the Muggle-borns are believed to be dead as well, at least to those who aren't… resourceful enough to own one."

Her face flushed hot and her eyes snapped to his face. "How many Muggle-borns are… are _owned_ like me?"

"Twelve, or, really, thirteen, as I did not have you on record."

She sputtered again. "No one knows where I am?"

"Lucius Malfoy is very skilled at keeping hidden what he wants hidden. Your presence in the Malfoy Manor, while startling, was not entirely unexpected."

"But then there could be more Muggle-borns out there than you know! If he can hide me, what would stop-" Snape held up his hand and she bit her tongue.

"No. Voldemort is selective about the recipients of the Muggle-borns taken by the Committee. Only his finest are deserving; basically, you are a reward for good service. To Draco, correct?" Hermione nodded, turning her gaze to the fireplace to try and hide the tears welling hot and angry in her eyes. _We're nothing more than trophies for monsters!_ "I should have thought to send someone sooner, as it was not likely that Lucius would stand to be left out."

Snape returned to his chair on the other side of the table, and they sat in silence. Hermione played with the newspaper in her lap as the tears quietly ran down her cheeks; Snape pretended not to notice. A thought came to her, and she quietly asked, "Are you… uh… in a position of ownership, then?"

There was hesitation in his voice, but he answered her firmly. "Of course. Justin Finch-Fletchley is extremely lucky that he was given to me, as opposed to the Lestrange family, or Rockwood. You should consider yourself lucky as well, as-"

Hermione had not laughed as hard as she did then in a long time. The hateful emotions she had been pushing away bubbled up in her stomach and she threw the rolled-up newspaper at his head, missing by a hair. "Lucky? _Lucky!? _How can you sit there, after what I've been through the last three years - at your hands! - and tell me that I'm lucky?_"_

"You're alive, Miss Granger. There were sixteen Muggle-borns at various loyalist estates at the start of the year, three dozen the year before."

"Then why haven't you stepped in?" Hermione rose to her feet. "Why are you letting people die at your hands? These were your students, Snape, and they were innocent people, don't you-"

"You don't know what it's like out there, now!" She was surprised at the sudden rage in his voice, at the way he managed to tower over her in one movement, his chair tipping from the sudden forceful exit; throughout their entire conversation he had been civil and calm, maybe even verging on cheerful, but now she remembered all the reasons why she had been afraid of him as a child. Very seldom had she ever seen him break his cool demeanor to this extent. "I have blood on my hands that will never wash away, and I have seen things that you could never even imagine, all while parading around as something I'll never fully be, and you have the nerve to tell me that I'm to blame? Who are you to judge me?"

They stood, toe-to-toe, eyes locked, until she realized what she was doing. This was a man whom she had always held, sometimes grudgingly, respect for, and she was no longer in a position to pick fights with the one person who had in any way acknowledged the she was human in years. She was out of line, and he didn't deserve this misguided anger. Her eyes drooped in defeat. "I'm not judging you, Professor."

"Minister."

"Sir."

"Thank you." Neither of them had shifted position, bodies taut. "I'm sorry that you've lost loved ones, Miss Granger, and I'm sorry that you're in this position of servitude, but I can't amend the laws that Lord Voldemort tells me to enforce. I treasure my life above anyone else's, and that's not going to change."

A very small cough made them both turn their heads to the door. Bunker stood there with a tray in her tiny hands, her eyes wide. Both Hermione and Snape took a step away from each other as the House Elf came into the room and set the tray down. "A late repast for my master's most honored of guests, as requested." Hermione noted that Bunker had not addressed her, which was strange for the elderly elf, but she said nothing.

"This shall be all." Snape gave a slight nod of his head to Bunker, who returned his gesture with a grand bow, and then she turned and left. "Are you hungry?" He removed the cover from the tray, revealing an array of food that Hermione had not seen since her time at Hogwarts on feast days.

"Yes, thank you." While she was not starved, thanks to Bunker's generosity, she had definitely lost her curvy figure of younger years that had set in after years of living with well-to-do parents. Bones now protruded and her face was sharper, more defined. She hated looking in mirrors, now.

"It's not much, mostly sweets, as I ate supper with Lucius."

Her eyes roamed over the selection, and thought of Ron's reaction to so many saccharine treats, which brought a pang to her heart. "You didn't answer my question, earlier, about who else had died. Who that I would know?"

"The majority of your class was targeted; a better question would be who survived, really. The Weasley twins were running a resistance operation out of the basement of their joke of a shop, and caught the wrong end of a wand when the Ministry found out, though you might personally be pleased to know that they did literally go out with a bang and took some of my good men with them. Mad-Eye was labeled as a Mudbl… Muggle-born sympathizer a little under a year ago and was executed. Neville Longbottom is as good as dead, filling a bed across from his parents in St. Mungo's." His brow was furrowed, and he ticked off his fingers as names came to him. She sat and listened, each additional death another hole in heart, until he practically whispered, "Remus Lupin."

They both sat and ate in silence, Hermione as a sign of morning and Snape caught up in his memories.

It wasn't until after the clock over the fireplace struck midnight that Hermione realized how worn she was. It had been hours since she the encounter earlier in the day and while the remedies Snape had given her helped to mask the pain, her whole body still ached.

"Thank you, Minister, for the food and the news from outside, but I should be returning to my quarters. I have to be awake in a few hours to start my morning chores, and-"

"You are not going anywhere, Miss Granger. I told you, I purchased your company for the night. If I know Lucius Malfoy, he has a tracking charm on you, and if you aren't very close to me tonight," Snape paused, and she swore that she saw the slightest blush creep across his cheeks, "He'll be quite suspicious. It's in your best interests."

"But where will I sleep then?" She knew what the likely answer was, but she refused to believe that he could really be implying that she… she…

"The bed in my guestroom is large enough that I'm not entirely sure that both sides rest in Wiltshire proper. You'll never know I'm there, and more importantly, I'll never know that you're there." He folded the napkin over the tray, stood up, and that was the end of conversation. "Upstairs and to the left, first door. I'll be along in a moment."

She knew exactly the room that he was referring to. It was the largest of the extra bedrooms in the manor, and the only that had a full connecting bathroom. There was a small bookcase on one wall that, judging from the lighthearted fiction on its shelves, was Narcissa's, a gorgeous writing desk made of solid red cherry, and the bed was made from diricawl feathers. It was a beautiful room.

Hermione was terrified.

She stepped lightly, almost silently, on her way up the stairs, hoping that she would not run into any of the residents of the manor, lest they asked difficult questions or administered unwelcomed punishments. If Lucius did actually have a tracking charm in place, she was safest with Snape, but even as she made her way up to his room, she wanted to be as far from him as possible.

This was ludicrous. She was a former student, and he was the Minister of Magic, and she wasn't sure that she completely trusted him, and nothing about this situation seemed right to her, but there she was, slipping into the guestroom and shutting the door behind her. Three lamps hung high on the walls, casting a shadowy light throughout the room, illuminating the green and silver trim, and she walked over to the bookcase for lack of anything else to do as she waited.

Hermione picked out a manuscript, but she found that she couldn't focus on anything she read.

The news of the deaths of all her friends was devastating. She had known that things were not right and that people had died from the whispers of conversation she overheard between Narcissa and Lucius, but there was no way that she could have even started to imagine that it was as broad as it was: over half of her class at Hogwarts was dead or missing, there was a large hole in the Weasley family, poor Professor Lupin was gone, and the persecution of the government was horrifying.

She was quite certain that things would only continue to get worse.

It sounded as if Snape was doing everything he could to not get involved with the policies and laws branded with his name. He didn't want this power, which was completely understandable under the circumstances, but yet Wizarding England was the one suffering for it, which was unreasonable and petty; it was a delicate line that Severus Snape was walking, and Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted him to fall or not.

"You could have retired to bed, if you had wanted." She closed the book and whirled on her feet to find him in the doorway, a large bag in his right hand. The material was metallic and yet looked fluid, and she knew that it was dragon skin. He set it on the writing desk and said, "Potion ingredients. Lucius wants a draught to brighten his peacocks up, and while I think it maddening that he is focused on something so trivial, it's an easy enough brew that Longbottom could have…" He trailed off and turned away, obviously catching the look on her face at Neville's last name.

Silence again as he unpacked the ingredients and she slid the book back into place.

Eventually, with nothing to do but wring her hands, Hermione realized that it was now or never, and since never didn't seem to be an option... "M… Minister, I'm afraid that this is a little, uh, awkward for me, and I… well…" She knew that her face was Gryffindor scarlet as she looked over at the broad bed against the far wall. "I don't have anything to sleep in, and-"

Snape walked over to the large wardrobe and pulled out a long green set of robes. He pulled out his wand and muttered, and suddenly the robes became a modest sleeping shirt. It hurt to watch him use his wand so easily, and she wished more than anything that she had use of her wand again. He handed it to her, and turned his back and strode over to the desk once more to continue his examination of the many vials.

And she realized that he wasn't going to leave the room while she changed.

Very quickly Hermione shed her crude robes and pulled the long shirt over her head. It was soft and warm and came down over her knees, and she decided that it was acceptable, given the circumstances. Her robes she folded as neatly as possible and set on a chair before slinking to the bed and dragging the bedspread back. She crawled under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. "Thank you."

Snape continued about his business while she watched him, and it was almost –_almost!_- comforting to watch the methodical way he conducted himself. He seemed to be working off a list, and would occasionally scrawl something onto a parchment she couldn't see from the bed.

"Will you be unable to sleep while I work? I can leave the draught until morning, as I'm sure the peacocks will survive." He turned then, for the first time, and he looked at her as if there was nothing strange about the situation. When she didn't answer he pulled a book from the bag and walked over to the far side of the bed. "I'll read, then, if that's alright."

It was Hermione's turn to face away as he stripped down, and she was almost embarrassed to think about the fact that he was probably doing it more rapidly than normal as well.

Hermione felt the weight on the bed before she dared turn back. Severus Snape was five hand spans away in the same bed as she was. The man that had terrorized her childhood was opening his book to the spot that a ribbon had been placed in nothing but an undershirt, seemingly not affected by having her there.

She pulled the covers up as far as they would go, and tried to will herself to sleep.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_Gatherings_

"Granger."

Hermione stirred with a sigh, barely on the edge of consciousness, unwilling to leave her dreams of Hogwarts and of her parents and of snakes hiding in tall grass. She hugged a pillow to her chest and furrowed her brow, wanting nothing more than to slip back into her thoughts for a few more hours.

A cry escaped her throat as her head was jerked from the pillow by her hair, and she found herself in Snape's bed, face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

"Looks like the Mudblood thinks she can sleep in just because she's Snape's new whore." His mouth was turned into a vicious smirk as he wrapped some of her hair around his fingers and tugged again, eliciting another whimper; her entire scalp felt as if it were on fire. "My father told me I'd find you here, but I didn't believe it." Another yank. "I still can't understand why he would want to make it with a little bitch like you, but then again, he's always been a little off."

She said nothing, tears streaming down her face as he tightened his grip. "Maybe I could stand to find out what he saw in those knickers of yours, though. How about it, Granger?" He laughed again. Hermione closed her eyes. "What, not jumping at the chance to finally have a proper Pureblood in your knickers? Ungrateful, that's what you are."

"I… I should be going, sir. I have to get started on the cleaning for the day." It was a pitiful excuse, but he took it, letting go of her hair and taking a step back.

"Fine. Go back to being a house-elf. You're not worth my time." He wiped his hands on his robes, as if she were dirty, and walked towards the door. "Oh, by the way, your friend Potter's here." Her head snapped up. "He looks good on a leash." With a chortle, he was gone.

* * *

Hermione's afternoon was spent in the kitchen, wringing her hands and trying to think of an excuse to try to see Harry. Since early that morning, according to Bunker, guests had been arriving for a party and she had been escorting them to the grand dining room. She was certain that if Snape was to be trusted, Harry would be with Voldemort, and if Voldemort was anywhere, he would be there; if Voldemort was there, however, she was sure that Lucius would not have any misgivings in punishing her completely and thoroughly for yesterday's incident if she snuck in.

The answer came shortly after six, when Narcissa Malfoy herself strode through the kitchen doors. In her many years at the Manor, the missus of the house had never come down here; Hermione jumped to her feet, her mouth and eyes open wide, and Bunker squealed and bowed low to the floor. "Both of you can stop fawning. Girl, my husband wants you up at the party."

That news was not what Hermione was expecting, but it quickly dawned on her that she should not be grateful for the sudden invitation. It was obvious that either Lucius wanted to show off his servant to his acquaintances, or he wanted to give her the public punishment that she had been dreading earlier. Flabbergasted, she looked down at the dirty work robes she had donned again that morning. "Madam, I don't think that I'm exactly what anyone would like to look at when they're at a party as lavish as the one you are clearly throwing tonight. I wouldn't want to spoil anything for you."

Narcissa was dressed in a sweeping set of midnight blue dress robes, and her fair hair had been pulled into an intricate bun that sat high on her head. Next to Hermione, she was a goddess, and she knew it. She gave Hermione a small, pitying smile and set a small bag on the counter next to her. "Lucius demands that you're there, so I'll let you borrow these for the night." She waited for Hermione to step forward to take the bag, and she could not control her gasp when she opened it. Inside was one of the prettiest, and most expensive, set of robes that she had ever seen. "I wore these robes when I was about your age."

Hermione's hands shook as she pulled the robes out and held them before her. They were a deep green, with tiny embroidery up both sides of the bodice, and the capelet was white kneazle fur. It was perfect for the event, and a very unexpected gift. Hermione looked up from the robes to Narcissa, but she had already turned and was walking out of the kitchens. "Th-thank you Madam!"

Narcissa stopped and turned. "I would not be thanking me, and I do not envy, girl." As an afterthought, she added, "You can keep them. I won't want to wear them again after you've touched them." She left without another word, and Hermione ignored the dread in her stomach and raced off to try to scrub some of the dirt from her body.

* * *

Ten minutes after Narcissa had told her of Lucius' request, Hermione Granger stood in front of the closed dining room doors, taking a deep breath. In that room, there would undoubtedly be the entirety of the Death Eaters, not excluding Voldemort himself. These were the people that were responsible for the death of her parents, the death of her friends, her entire enslavement, and the definite decline of the wizarding world, and she was to walk into the den of wolves with her head held high.

Bugger.

Her hand found the polished wood and pushed, opening the door and surrounding her with the sounds of a party already in progress. The music from a string quartet in the corner blended with the resonance of hundreds of voices in conversation. She swayed at the sudden envelopment, but kept her head high.

Hermione knew that she should find Lucius Malfoy immediately. If he wanted her at the party, dallying would only increase whatever temper she would be facing as it was. She scanned the crowd for his remarkable figure, all the while watching for Harry; she even found a part of herself looking for Snape, as odd as it seemed to her.

After a moment, Lucius came into view on the far side of the room, talking with a pair of men that she recognized, but did not know the name of. She was sure that they were Ministry officials, however, and she wondered if it would be wise to let him finish his conversation before alerting him of her presence. Just as she was about to continue her search for her friend, Lucius made eye contact with her. The smile that spread across his face was chilling, but she strode over to him, eyes on the floor.

"There you are. Gentlemen, I regret that I must end this conversation prematurely. I'm sure that we will bump into one another before the night is through, though." He nodded his head at the two men, and then grabbed her arm lightly, pulling her aside. Voice low, he whispered, "Now don't you look nice? You are the luckiest whore in the world tonight, you know. I wanted to kill you, as painfully as possible, but Severus forbade it. And one must _always _listen to the Minister of Magic." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Hermione could not find the breath to speak. "There is one person, though, who gives him the orders."

He steered her through groups of people towards the eastern window, and as soon as she saw where they were going, her heart sank. Sitting in an ornate chair at a small table was Voldemort himself, and at his feet was Harry. From Voldemort's wrist, a red, electric looking chain snaked its way down and around Harry's neck, just like Snape and Draco had said. _Like a dog_. What bothered Hermione most, however, was Harry's lack of glasses, and the milky, faded look to his eyes. It was almost as if…

She gasped, and tripped over her own feet as Lucius dragged her.

Harry was blind.

Lucius stopped her directly before Voldemort and bowed low; Hermione repeated the motion, never taking her eyes from Harry. She desperately wanted to call out to him, to let him know that she was there, but she was unsure of the consequences and remained silent. "This is my Mudblood servant, my lord, just as you asked."

"Thank you, Lucius. This is the one that I gave Draco for his work in killing that fool Dumbledore, correct? The friend of Potter here?" At the mention of his name, Harry turned his head towards Voldemort, and Voldemort chuckled, patting Harry's head like a child. It made Hermione sick to her stomach.

"Yes, sir."

"And she's the one that caused you the trouble yesterday? Such a small girl to give you as much trouble as you say, Lucius." The group of people watching the interaction laughed, and Voldemort rose from his chair. He waved his hand and the din directly around them quieted. "What punishment did you have in mind for her? You know how important it is to keep those below you in line, don't you, Malfoy?"

"Of course I do, sir. Moreover, I do believe that Greyback had showed some interest in her yesterday afternoon after she caused the commotion." Hermione could not help herself from spluttering, and she tried to pull herself from his grip to no avail. "I don't think that she agrees with what I had planned, my lord."

"Sir, if I may-" Hermione spoke in rushed tones, and Harry's head whipped in her direction.

"Hermione?"

"Oh god, Harry, I-"

Hermione found herself on the floor as Lucius struck her in the stomach. Gasping for air, she looked up at Lucius. "This looks familiar, doesn't it girl?" He planted his boot in the same place as yesterday and she moaned. The paste that Snape had given her had dulled the pain, but not removed the bruise entirely, and she felt as if her ribs were in flames. "Mudbloods never learn, do they?"

Voldemort laughed again. "I like to think that eventually they would have learned their place below us, but thankfully it looks as if most of them have been exterminated already."

"Leave her alone!" Harry was struggling with his magical leash, trying to stand up. Voldemort tugged slightly and Harry howled in pain.

"Harry, stop! It's not worth it!" She was sobbing, watching him try to get to her while all of the Death Eaters above them were laughing.

"Better listen to your girlfriend, Potter," Voldemort said, and those around him laughed even harder. "Now then, I do believe that we were going to let Greyback take care of your problem, weren't we?"

Voldemort clapped his hands, and the noise reverberated around the room. Everything stilled, and all of the occupants of the party turned to face them. "Fenrir Greyback, I require your presence." His voice, with the aid of _Sonorus, _carried clear across the dining room. Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the low buzz of conversation over this new development. _If Greyback was needed, then…_

"Yes, my lord?" Hermione opened her eyes again and let out another sob as she saw Greyback standing over her, eyes bright and obviously in on the fact that he was going to be getting exactly the treat that he wanted.

"I hear from Lucius that you wanted to have a little fun with this Mudblood. Is this true, wolf?" Voldemort asked the question with humor in his voice, and Greyback responded with a howling laugh. Harry thrashed around again; he was clearly aware of what happened to the werewolf's victims.

"Oh very much sir. It doesn't matter to me what her type her blood is, as long as it comes out of her." There was an uneasy laugh from those spectators immediately around them, but Voldemort only smiled and gestured one hand towards her.

"She's yours, then. I only ask that you drag her away somewhere first, as I do not want to ruin my appetite. Dinner is soon, isn't it Lucius?" Hermione did not hear the end of the conversation about dinner plans as Greyback pulled her up for the second time in two days. She tried calling out to Harry again, but she found no voice through her sobs, only managing to resist feebly; her struggle was futile as he greatly overpowered her and dragged her out the side door and into the hallway.

She found herself thrown against the wall, landing with a solid noise as her head cracked into the wood. "Now then, my dear, shall we dance?" He swayed towards her slowly, following imaginary music in his head, until he stood with one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder. "Is it a waltz, or a tango that you want?"

The last thing that Hermione felt was the rip of his teeth on her neck, and the world went black.


End file.
